


a war of head versus heart

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alpha Striders, Anxiety, Incest, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stridercest - Freeform, Tie tying, i guess its an au, kind of sad??, lyric title because im unoriginal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your brother is a lot of things. </p><p>But he's never here.</p><p>[[[DISCONTINUED]]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AH H HH HHHHHHHHHHHHHH  
> AHHHHHH H H H H H H HH H H HHHH H H  
> ah  
> in which dave is a dick and dirk is a dick right back

Your brother is famous.

He’s cool. He’s slick. He’s popular. He’s rich. He’s invited to every party out there and treated like someone to be worshipped. He’s at least mentioned in every newspaper, on every news channel, often more than once. His suits are always crisp, ties always the sharpest red, shades always a polished monochrome mirror. He’s smooth and charismatic and clever and you loathe him with every fiber of your being.

Your brother is many things.

But he’s never here.

And it makes  
you want  
to  
scream.

 

When you wake up, it’s early afternoon, and the moment your eyes open your computers chimes its message alert. The last thing you want to do is get up, but it could be Jane with some sort of complain about Lil’ Seb, so you roll out of bed and climb to your computer chair. The text you see in the open window isn’t blue, nor pink or green. It’s red. You haven’t seen this for months.

  
— turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 14:17 —  
TG: im coming home tonight  
TG: go get champagne  
TG: youre old enough to do that right  
TG: nevermind i dont even like that shit  
TG: see you soon bro  
— turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 14:19 —  
TT: Don’t.  
TT: Fuck.

  
You shove the chair back from the desk and look for something you can throw. Coming up short, you just shout and punch the nearest wall with all your strength. The immediate pain in your knuckles has you regretting it in an instant. They’re red and your middle one is bleeding, slight bruises already forming on the others. Yeah, that was a pretty bad idea. Dave might ask about it. He’ll likely call you stupid or clumsy and you’ll just get angry and his visit will be ruined.His visit will be ruined anyway.

Dave is always so determined to be humiliating. You can’t stand him.

He forgot how old you are.

A shower is probably the best idea right now.

 

You’ve just finished cooking pasta for one—including chicken alfredo, hell yes—when the knob of the front door rattles. You hear a curse on the other side, then silence for a few moments before a knock sounds. What you want to do is leave him locked out until he curses you and says please. However, you pride your status as the better Strider, so you only make him wait two minutes before leaving your bowl on the counter and letting him in.

Same classy suit. Same red tie. Same black shades. Same look of indifference, apart from the very slight tension in his shoulders that gives away his irritation. He pushes past you into the apartment. You feel your lips set in a tight line. This is a bad idea, but you snap, “Just because you bought the place doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

He glances over at you. You feel him looking you over and will yourself not to shift in discomfort.

“The fuck do you mean?” he asks, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. “I own this apartment.”

“Yeah, but see, it isn’t really yours.” Christ, you regret saying that. You sigh, walking past him to your room. “You can eat what’s on the counter,” you say over your shoulder.

As you pass through to your room, you hear him mutter, “What hospitality.”

The door closes with a slam.

 

A few hours later, you’re saying goodnight to Jane when the door shakes. Damn it. He’d been about to walk right in without any sort of warning. You could’ve been jacking off, for all he knew.

“What?” you call.

“Let me in. We gotta talk.”

“‘We’ being a loose term, seeing as it’ll be you talking and me wanting to punch you in the mouth.”

His sigh is audible and frustrated. “Just open the door,” he tells you.

“Nah. Talk through it.” You lean back in your chair.

Dave mumbles something, then the door whips open, but your hand is on it before it can hit the wall. The chair drops forward again at your sudden absence. You glare at him. “You almost dented my wall. Damn, you probably broke the lock, too.”

He repeats himself. “We need to talk.”

You really don’t want to. But you’re smart enough to know you barely have much of a choice. You rest your weight on your heels, waiting for him to begin.

“I just need you to join me tomorrow night,” he says. “Ben’s hosting a party and he wants you there.”

“I’ve already met him,” you say. The screen on your wall switches to a bird’s-eye image of a small island with a volcano, shaped like a crescent. You get so caught up in thoughts of flying there, meeting Jake, escaping your brother (which tends to happen most times you catch a glimpse of that picture, however pitiful you know it is), that you forget for a moment he’s there at all.

Then he says, “Deal?” and you automatically say, “Fine,” and the smirk on his face is so smug you rue whatever it is you’ve just agreed to.

Dave tells you to grab your sword and meet him on the roof and he’s gone, you’re left staring at where he stood moments ago; you realize you’d probably just arranged to strife for it, and you know you won’t win. Fuck, Dirk, great job. Now not only will you not have a chance to stay, but you’ll also be in a shit-ton of pain throughout it all. Dave is waiting for you, though, and it’ll be far worse if you back down. You take your sword off the wall and flash-step up to the roof, where he stands on the edge, looking over the city.

“’S nice,” he calls. “Much cleaner than LA. You wouldn’t like it there.” Suddenly, he whirls—his blade slams into yours and you’re fighting, fighting, fighting.

It’s a while before you can ask, “Then why… ‘re you making me go?” between parries and dodges.

His voice is smooth, not short of breath at all, as he replies, “Good for the image. People love that brother shit.”

Brother shit. It’s all shit to him.

You fight back harder.

All of a sudden your back hits the cement and breath leaves you in a huff and his blade pricks cold at your throat. His smirk is the same as it was inside, then the weight is gone; a hand outstretched offers to help you to your feet. You swat it away and push yourself up on your own.

“I’ll leave you to yourself. Get a shower and some sleep. Be out by four in your best suit.”

The sun streams into your eyes and you relies you’d battled through the rest of the night, and how exhausted you are. Your feet drag going down the stairs, every muscle sore. Dave is in the main room and doesn’t say a word when you pass him to your own and collapse onto the bed, falling asleep the moment your eyes close.

 

“If you want one of your long-ass showers, you need to get up now. A pack of Ramen’s on the counter.”

Groaning, you toss the blankets from your body, glancing up. At the door, now ajar, stands your brother. He nods at you once, then leaves you alone.

You flash-step to the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat up. Once it does, you step in; the cascading water soothes tense muscles and finally clears your mind. You can think.

You brother is out there, and you really don’t feel like thinking at all. With your mind, though, it’s inevitable. Even now, with proof on your skin, it’s difficult to believe he’s actually here, in Houston. In the apartment that’s his but isn’t. This could still all just be some long, elaborate dream, and you’ll wake up regretting the weed you don’t think you smoked but may have. As much as you loathe him, you can’t help but consider this a dreadful nightmare. It’s fooled you into thinking your brother cares, even just a little. Fooled you into the idea that he thought about you while he was away, for a millisecond. Fooled you into letting your guard down without realizing it was happening at all.

No. You’re done thinking. Just wash your hair, clean your skin, let the hot water assure you that  
the burn of your wounds and the  
ache under your skin and the  
storms in your mind  
are reality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which daves tie is too crooked and dirk doubts himself

The seats of the plane are large and dark leather. The windows are bigger than those on a regular jet, and every seat is beside one. They all rotate. In the one in front of you sits your brother, studying you as you poke at the circuitry of a small cat automaton. Seeing as you’ve made one for Jane, Jake, and two for yourself, you’d decided it only fair for Roxy to have one, as well. Besides, it gives you an excuse to not look up. However, he’s tapping his fingers on the armrest and won’t stop staring, so you put your small screwdriver down with a sigh and raise your eyes.

“Nice plane,” you say.

“Thanks. Picked it out myself.”

“Very classy.”

“It’s my favorite I’ve ever had. Definitely love this—”

“If you like it so much,” you mutter, interrupting him as you speak mostly to yourself, “why not use it to stop by once in a while?”

Dave stops. You return to your work.

He’s silent.

Never have you wanted him to say something more than you do now.

He is still  
silent.

The cat jerks and mews metallically.

 

“Straighten your tie.”

“It is straight.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Dirk. I’m your elder. I think I know whether or not my tie is straight.”

“You’ll go in there and look like a jackass.”

“Shut up.”

You keep glancing over at that damned crooked tie. You’re three groups behind the front of the line to the club where the party is. That fucking tie is driving you insane.

“I’m humiliated already,” you complain. “The fact you’d go anywhere like that is appalling.”

He looks down and adjusts it. It’s still a tad off but it’s driving you up the wall. You tell yourself to ignore it as you show the bouncer your fake id.

 

Across the room, talking to strangers about your interests, you can still see the uneven tie.

 

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes in, you’ve retreated to the corner where lonely divorced men nurse scotches and young drunk couples give themselves to the other, if only for the night. Roxy is pestering you, keeping you distracted from the intoxicated laughter, the pounding music, the stares, the whispers. Every other minute, you hear one.

“Strider’s brother?”

“Dave Strider brought him.”

“I didn’t know Dave had a brother.”

_Stop!_ you want to scream. _Stop! I’m not like him! Stop, stop, shut up, please!_

You tell Roxy. She tells you that she wants to kiss your forehead and steal you. You thank her. Then—

“Dirk,” Dave says. He drops into the plush leather seat beside you. A woman giggles and scoots closer to him, but he ignores her. “You all good?”

Why is he asking you this? It isn’t like he cares. Someone must have told him to check on you or something. Rather than answering his question, you remark, “You didn’t fix your tie.”

He groans, then mutters something about ‘she said she did.’

“It could just be the tie,” you suggest.

He nods. “I think they keep extra shit in the back. I’m gonna check.” Then he’s up and gone; you barely feel a breeze.

But then it’s been ten minutes, and really, how long does it take to tie a tie? You get to your feet and flash-step to the dim hallway. Streaks of the strobe lights dance along the walls, otherwise completely dark. You just make our doors on both sides of the hall. Moans are audible as you pass one, and you grimace. In a stage whisper, you call for your brother.

His answer is just as quiet. “It’s too dark to tie this goddamn tie.”

“Here. I’ll help. They’re probably wondering where you are.”

You move to where you heard his voice, stopping in front of him. In the shadows (plus your tinted shades), you hadn’t realized how close you were to him. He doesn’t back up, though, so you swat his fumbling hands away and take the silk in your fingers. Dave tips his jaw back slightly to give you a bit more room when your knuckles brush his throat. You feel more than see his swallow, and he wets his lips.

“Dirk,” he says softly.

“I’m almost done. Quit being impatient,” you snap. Tired of you already. What did you expect from him?

“That’s not it. I want to apologize.”

You stop and raise your gaze. You’d just asked yourself what you had expected, and now you have an answer.

Not this.

Putting his hands over yours, he guides them so they tighten the tie around his neck. The two of you just stand, staring at each other in the hallway without light. You wait for him to continue.

All he does at first is sigh. He has yet to drop your hands. “I haven’t really been a great bro, have I? I’ve been sort of ignoring you.”

_No shit._

“It isn’t like I forgot about you. I mean, I didn’t. Not at all. There were a lot of times I thought about something you’d like, or something you wouldn’t. You think that you never crossed my mind, but that’s nowhere near the truth. Stop thinking that. It isn’t true. Damn it, Dirk, you’re my brother. How could I forget about you?”

_You hate him._

You take your hands from his and, after a moment of hesitation, draw them around him.

_Stupid stupid dumb._

Dave wraps his arms around you and pulls you a bit closer, more of an embrace than a simple hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You probably hate me.”

“I do.”

He chuckles. You feel his chest vibrate against yours. “Yeah. I was afraid it’d be like that.”

You hear his name called. You quickly pull away and move to the side, giving him room to leave. He glances at you, looks you over, then heads down the hall. Against your will, you feel disappointment tugging at your gut; you can’t fight it back down. You hate that you’re upset he’s gone. You hate that you think he’s clever. You hate that you idolize him. You hate that you’re attracted to him—your brother—but you especially hate that you don’t hate him at all.

“Can we do that hug thing again, or do you want to sit in a corner on your phone for the rest of the night?”

There’s Dave, standing in front of you as you lean back against the wall. You’re still pleased to see the straight tie.

“I don’t want you to hate me, Dirk.”

There goes your chilly demeanor: “I don’t want to hate you, either.”

His head tips sideways in curiosity. “But you do.” It’s not a question, but you nod your head.

You lock gazes. “Yes. I do. And it’s your fault.” With this, you turn on your heel and stride back down the hall—

But his fingers grip your wrist and tug you back so you’re even closer than you were before.

“Let me go,” you snap.

“Not until I make you  
stop  
hating me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Moans are muffled by drywall, made purposefully thick for just that reason. People are shouting over the music, attempting to be heard although they’re quite certain they’ll never be, no matter their effort. Toward the front of the building, separated by a glass half-wall, partygoers are much more relaxed, sipping their expensive drinks because that’s what they’re supposed to do in a place like this, at a party like this. They think they are far above those who have moved to the other half, with the dance floor and the DJ and the girls who only got in for flashing their tits at the bouncer in the back or the boys who slipping money into his hand.

Where you stand now, it’s almost quiet - apart from the moans, at least. Those are disgusting, just slightly, and you hate that they are the background to this scene.

(A woman shouts “more!” and a man grunts a reply. You shudder.)

“It isn’t going to happen,” you tell the elder Strider, who frowns. “I’m so sick and tired of you leaving. You have no idea what it’s like for me. You’re my brother, Dave. The _least_ you could have done is call me, but you never did. Ever. The only time you messaged me was the day you were coming home!”

Dave bites his lip. “Look, it’s hard working out time - “

“But I’m your _brother!_ I’m _family!_ Haven’t you heard the term ‘communication is key’? How am I supposed to appreciate you when all you do is leave, ignore my existence until you come home? That isn’t fair to me, Bro. It isn’t fair at all.” You pull at your arm, trying to free it from his grasp. “Now let. Me. Go.”

You stare at each other for a few moments. The silence is more comfortable than it should be. Perhaps because you both know he won’t, or because you both know you don’t want him to.

You wonder if you hate him as much as you hate yourself.

“You want to leave, don’t you?” he asks. Of course, he already knows the answer, but you appreciate that he’s asking all the same, and you nod. He sighs, moving away from you and tugging your wrist to guide you through the crowd. They seem to part for him, as if he’s able to tell that that suit will not take a stain, that the eyes behind those shades will not so much as glance over them, and there is no use getting in this man’s way. You follow closely behind him, staying in his wake before it closes once more. Someone bumps into you, shoving you into your brother, who turns his head only slightly, gazing at the person in a way that they apologize profusely and scamper back into the crowd. Dave stops by mister Stiller to thank him and say goodbye, keeping you at such an angle that the actor wouldn’t try to shake your hand.

It’s getting harder and harder to hate him.

Your breaths, you realize once outside, are coming in pants, and your chest is seizing up. You hadn’t noticed just how close you’d been to panic, but you’re out now, and you’re grateful. You were so close to freaking out in there, especially talking about Dave’s absence. But he let you leave, as much as you know he doesn’t want to.

You’re mostly glad he did it, though. If he’d not, you would have ended up far too emotional for such a setting, especially in your brother’s presence. To break down like you were about to in front of him? No. No, you can’t. You won’t. Not there, not in front of anyone. A part of you still wants to be back in that stifling apartment, longing for the man who stands beside you now. It would be easier than this. Sitting with emotions dulled, staring at a computer screen, reading an article about how your brother’s suit is a dark shade of burgundy instead of simply red-so-dark-it’s-black. Moving around the empty penthouse with nothing in your mind (nothing but him him him him him) as if the lack of your brother didn’t bother you at all. There are no thoughts involved in that. No feelings involved in simple chatter with your ex or poking around a bot with a tool.

Dave raises a hand, whistling with his other, and beckons a cab. It pulls over, and he opens the door for you, giving a sweeping sort of gesture and a bow. You laugh a little, shaking your head as you slip into the backseat. He drops in after you, shoving himself as close to you as he can. You try not to give any sort of response, keeping your eyes trained on the back of the driver’s seat as he drapes an arm over your shoulders.

“So, kid,” he begins. You swallow, finally glancing over at him out of the corner of your eye. He catches this, and grins. “Right back to the hotel, or do you wanna go someplace first? I could take you out to dinner.”

“Dave, please,” you grumble, “you’re ridiculous. And besides, we still need to book me a flight home.”

He gives you a confused sort of look. “What do you mean? You want to leave already?”

You shrug and tell the driver the name of the hotel. He nods and pulls away from the curb.

“Dirk,” Dave draws back a little and leans forward, trying to catch your eye. “Dirk, seriously, do you want to go home so soon?”

“Yes, I do.” Your tone is snappier than you’d intended it to be, and you sigh. “I didn’t want to come in the first place. I had an obligation to fulfill. We made a deal, I lost, so here I am. That’s it. Now I just want to go home. You can just throw me in a cab in the morning and be done with me until your manager tells you to take a break.”

His mouth falls open a little. His eyebrows furrow, and then he shakes his head. It’s more emotion than he’d show anywhere else, to anyone else, and something in your chest feels warmer with the thought. “You think that’s why I come home? Just because my manager tells me to?”

You shrug again.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, kiddo. You have no idea how much pushing I need to do every time I leave. Everybody’s shoving more work at me and all I want to do is see you again, starting the moment I’m back in my office. You mean so much more to me than my work does, why can’t you see that?”

Throughout Dave’s explanation, you’ve been biting your lip, forcing back emotions that swell up, fighting to be expressed. You almost say something, but the taxi stops with a jerk, and you close your mouth again and get out of the car. Dave hands the man his money and thank him, hurrying after you as you head into the lobby of the hotel. There’s a few small fountains that trickle rather than spray, the water falling down along the path that the glass or faux stones guide it. It really is a gorgeous place, you think to yourself, ignoring the man behind you until you’re in the elevator and have no choice but to acknowledge him. The walls are mirrors, and you stare at his reflection to your left while the real Dave stands on your right.

“I’m sorry.”

He takes a moment before looking down at you. “What for?”

“I shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that. I mean, it was more of a hop, because everything you did sort of led to that idea, but. I’m sorry I did. It’s just really hard for me to think that you care when all you ever do is leave.” You lower your head, chewing your inner cheek and training your eyes on your polished shoes.

He’s quiet, as if turning the words over in his mind. You imagine him labeling the phrases by color and tucking them away to attempt to explain later. Then you realize what a stupid idea that is, and shake your head to clear it.

And then, because he’s an idiot and you’re an idiot and the elevator is slow to get to one of the highest floors, Dave grabs you and holds you tight and murmurs apologies and you foolishly hug him back, burying your face in the crook of his neck while he strokes your back in that slow hug sort of way. But there you are, whispering against his skin that you forgive him and that you’re sorry for thinking that and you just miss him so much, all the goddamn time. You’re still like this when the elevator chimes your floor, and you take a moment before drawing back. He keeps an arm around you, walking close to you to your room. With his free hand, he slips the card down along the device beside the handle of the door and the green like flashes; Dave tucks you closer to him as he steps in, kicking the door closed behind you both.

You want to ask him why he’s doing this, but you’re fairly certain that he won’t answer, so you don’t say anything and wait.

Finally, he releases you to start unbuttoning his suit coat. “Take the bed,” he tells you, heading toward the sofa. “I’ll sleep here.”

“Don’t be absurd, the bed is huge, of course we’ll share it.” You start on your own buttons, slipping off the coat and then getting close to him to work at his tie, because you don’t trust him with it again.

He watches your face carefully until you step back and untie your own, and even then, you feel his eyes on your movements. When you’re digging around in your bag for comfortable clothes, he moves at last to do the same, and the two of you change quickly with your backs to each other, as if it actually matters. When you’re finished, you raise the blankets and shove yourself into the bed, adjusting the pillows according to your tastes and dropping onto your side. Dave is pulling on his shirt, and you get to see one quick flash of the skin on his back before his tee shirt covers it. He slides into the bed next to you, and you stare at each other.

“You didn’t take off your shades,” he tells you.

“You didn’t take off yours,” you tell him in reply.

He chuckles a little, then reaches out to take the corner of your shades between his fingers. You don’t move when he pulls them off, placing them on his side’s nightstand beside his pair. When his head falls back onto his pillow he grabs your waist and drags you so you’re against him.

You aren’t sure how to phrase all the things you want him to know, so you don’t say anything at all, just kiss his collarbone and hope that’s enough.

His chest flutters with a quiet laugh, and you’re certain it was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where they kiss

Dave is speaking quietly to his phone when you wake up. You keep your eyes closed for a moment to listen to him, stretching a little under the blankets. The spot immediately beside you is still just barely warm, and you realize he probably just woke up.

“...been over this already, Ty. Alright, okay, I get that I can’t just cancel... no, damnit, I can’t get there, that’s the thing. Don’t get me a car service, that’s bullshit. I won’t be in the state. What do you mean I can’t do that? I’m your boss. I’ll do what I want. If it’s actually important to MY career rather than a reporter’s, schedule a phone call. Don’t let it be more than a few hours long. You’re right. No, you can’t. If I could yell, I would definitely be yelling, but my bro’s sleeping and I’m not gonna wake him up for someone like you. Ain’t worth it. Are you done? No? Okay-fine-I’m-going-now-bye.” 

You sit up, rubbing your eye and looking around. You’re not at home. No, you’re still at the hotel, aren’t you? And all that happened wasn’t some insane dream. This happened. This is still happening. You clear your throat, looking around and catching glimpse of the two pairs of shades, still on the nightstand. “Bro,” you say. Your voice is still a little raspy from sleep, and you clear your throat again. “Who was that?” 

He shrugs, smiling at you and crawling back onto the bed to collapse at your side once more. “Oof. Just my manager. We’ve got a flight in about four hours, so we’re gonna get up and pack and then we’ll head over to the airport for somethin’ to eat before boarding. Good plan?” 

“‘We’?” is all you can say. 

The grin he shoots you is a little sheepish, and you almost want to cry when he says, “Yeah, I’m comin’ home with you. Hope that’s alright.” 

You almost stop breathing. He’s coming home. He’s coming home because of you. “Yes, yes of course it is, oh my god, this is insane I can’t believe it.” You reach out to grab him around his neck and hug him tight, burying your face in his chest. “Jesus, this is more than I could’ve asked for, holy shit. Thank you. Thank you so much.” 

Had Dave told you this before he’d explained what he had the night before, you’d have told him no. You’d have insisted on going home alone, because he doesn’t really care about being there, just wants a break for his own selfish purposes. But you know now that that isn’t the case, that he cares more for you than he does his work or his break and shit, you can’t help but wonder just how much he really cares. Is it the same for him as it is for you? Is it hard for him to be around you without imagining what your lips would feel like against his, or how your voice would sound, breathy and low and smoky in his ear as you told him you loved him  
over and  
over and  
over--

“You’re blushing.” 

“I’m not,” you immediately deny, shaking your head in an attempt to clear your mind. It’s unsuccessful, and you bite your lip to try to make the pain a distraction. 

He watches. You swallow.

Your mind is clear apart from the way he’s staring at your lips as if they’re going to save his life. The two of you remain quiet as you gaze at each other until his eyes flick back up to meet yours. His pupils are dilated . You can’t help but wonder exactly what he was thinking about. 

“Would you hate me if I kissed you?” 

Dave’s voice is very, very soft. You wouldn’t’ve been able to hear him if he were any farther away. But you did hear him, you watched his lips form the words, and you don’t know what to tell him. Instead of speaking, you just shake your head once. It’s enough, though. He moves his hand up to cup your cheek in his hand; you nuzzle into the touch, blinking up at him patiently. It takes him a moment to work up the courage, but once he does, he lowers his lips to touch yours. 

It really is as wonderful as you imagined, perhaps even more so. 

You tighten your grip around his shoulders, pressing yourself against him until just the thin sheet and his dress shirt are between your body and his. Your imagination is weak with your lack of kissing knowledge, and you couldn’t possibly dream up sensations like these. You want to keep kissing him, to never part, but he drags himself away, giving you another quick, chaste peck while you try to follow his lips with your own. 

“We still have a flight to catch,” he reminds you. Judging by the tone of his voice, he’s just as breathless as you are. 

“Don’t you have your own jet?” you ask. “We don’t have to go through security on that, right?” 

He shrugs. “I knew you’ve never been first class on a public flight before. I wanted you to try it.”

You groan, tugging yourself closer again. “I want to stay here.” 

“No, you want to stay cuddled up next to me.” 

“Same thing.” 

“Get up, Dirk, you gotta pack.” 

“I am packed.” 

“Yeah, well I’m not, so let go of me.” 

You groan again and roll over. You do need to change anyway, but you still take a moment to lie in the bed and watch Dave’s fluid motions as he tosses his things into his suitcase. After a moment he flash-steps in front of you, grabbing you by the front of your shirt and pulling you toward him. You gasp, falling into him and grumbling when he holds your arms to help steady you. You lightly shove him away and tuck your things closer to the center of your bag so they don’t get caught in the zipper, then you swap your pajamas with jeans and a button-up (one that Roxy sent you, telling you in capital letters that the boys of the group should match sometimes, right before you told her she was ridiculous and knew she’d never try matching with Jane). You smooth your collar, checking it for wrinkles, an action you see Dave chuckle at. Finally, he rakes a comb through his hair, then nods and tells you he’s all ready to go. 

In the cab, the two of you sit with your arms and thighs touching, but agree it’s because you don’t want the luggage in the trunk--who know’s what’s been in there?--and need to keep it in the back seat with you. 

You lean against him on the plane, pushing up the plush armrest between you and fiddling around on your phone. He pulls out his laptop and brings up some program for script editing; he tells you it’s what he does when he has nothing better to do. You watch him make little changes to changes to changes. He plugs headphones into his computer and lets you share one, making soft comments about when he made this, why he started that. They’re some of the best three hours of your life, and you find yourself almost reluctant to get off when you land. 

You don’t have any time to clean up, so when you unlock the door you drop your things at the door and flash-step around the apartment, shoving puppets in cupboards and tossing blankets over the sofa. He seems almost impressed when you end up back in front of him, panting just slightly. 

“So, this is it,” you say, gesturing at the room.

“Yeah,” he agrees. The look on his fact is fond as he takes in your home, and grows fonder still when his eyes travel back to you. “I’ve missed it.” 

“Sorry for hating you until like eleven hours ago.” 

He shrugs. “You didn’t really hate me, I know that.” Then he smiles. “Got any plans?” 

“Dude, all I ever do is build robots and fight said robots. That’s like, it.” 

“Then...” He pauses, then grabs your waist and drags you to the couch. “Let’s watch movies ’til we end up makin’ out.”

You agree that this is indeed a very good idea and allow him to guide you. He doesn't move his hand when you sit down, just uses it to pull you against him while you snatch the remote and turn on the television. A Western movie is on, which you’ve probably already seen because Jake begged it of you, so you take the opportunity to focus on the way his body is warm against yours and how he skims his fingers up and down your side. After a good twenty minutes of this, you sigh, curling up fully against him while he rests his head over yours. 

“Dave?” you begin, your voice small and a touch timid.

“Hm?” he turns his head to look down at you.

You swallow, pulling off your shades and looking down at them. “Do you know how long you’ve felt like this?” 

“Loved you, you mean? Mm. It’s been a long time. Probably since you were about sixteen or so.” 

This puts you at a loss for words. Three years. For once, you consider just how hard it was for him to leave so often, for so long each time. It’s hard for you to even comprehend, since you’ve never had to experience it, but if it hurt you so much to be left, it must’ve hurt even more to leave. 

You feel your lips form the words of an apology. It must be hard to love someone like you, and you tell him so. But Dave just chuckles, kisses the top of your head. 

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says softly. “Really, don’t. It’s hard loving a brother like this in the first place, kiddo. This is morally wrong, remember?” 

You shrug. “Ain’t like we’re having kids.” 

He laughs again, a sound you could listen to forever. It reminds you of chocolate, rich and sweet and blissful, filling the air around you. “There is that,” he says, kissing your temple this time. 

You allow yourself a moment of soft laughter, then fall silent again, allowing the cartoonish BLAM! of the gunshots and the POW! of the punches from the movie to balloon in the air instead. Finally, Dave grumbles something about being bored, and pulls you tighter against him so you look up in surprise, then his lips are on yours and you’re kissing again. 

Not that you mind.

You take a moment to situate yourself more comfortably at his side, sitting on your knees facing him until he drags you over his lap so you’re perched over his thighs. You reach up to cup his face in your hands, and you kiss him as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont have the willpower to write longer chapters someone shoot me


End file.
